Mr. Madison refrains from pleading guilty

I was collecting hair, like little bits of hair, it was harmless, really, I mean, from barbershops, they throw it out at the end of the day and I was collecting it and using it, that isn't really stalking, not like they say it is, I was using the hair, its not like I was obsessing with the hair or sleeping with it, or putting it in my mouth and eating it, you know, I was collecting it, and I happened to go to places like salons, you know, among other places, hundreds of other places, not just salons, not just women's salons and not just the salon that she happens to go to every week, but other places too, like the barbershop off Delancy, that place has such good business, I could go twice a day and get two garbage bags full of hair, and they don't even watch their dumpsters, they don't care at all, I mean, have them go through all that hair and see if this is really stalking, let them see how much, you know, hair I was collecting and then they can come back to me, they can come back right here and say look we've seen all this, you know, we've seen this hair we've run a lot of tests on this hair and we think you were stalking 2,552 people since last july, and you are under arrest for stalking 2,552 people for nine months, because really, that is what they are going to find, when they start tracing all these DNA things that they are going to have to trace, they aren't going to find one lonely woman from the heights, they are gonna find a bunch of, you know, hobos, and whatnot, and those freaks from the lower haight and even the mission types, and probably, because, I don't know, I was at this for a long time, they are gonna come across all sorts of people, maybe even people they know, like that couple from the marina that likes the salon off van ness, then what, you know, all of them are going to come on in here, telling me that I can't like hair and I can't collect things that don't belong to me even though nobody wants it anymore, nobody wants their hair that they don't have anymore, its not like there are a bunch of people saying they miss all their hair and they wish they had collected their hair all their lives and stored it up in a room somewhere, in a cabin somewhere, like in vermont, and kept adding to it every six weeks, you know, kept driving or flying up to their cabin and keeping their hair, its not like this is happening, so I'm taking something that nobody wants, least of all that woman, and I'm collecting it, I'm using it, I'm using the things that nobody wants, nobody wants to have anymore, and they leave all over the place, and I'm using it, but they can't have that, it must be stalking, because once you start collecting the things that once were people, that once were part of people, all those people in the heights and all those people downtown start saying that you can't take things that aren't yours even if nobody wants it anymore--otherwise you are just stalking, plain and simple, just stalking the women in the salons, making them feel unsafe, making them feel unsafe because you're using their garbage, you know, the stuff they don't want anymore, and they are feeling unsafe because it was theirs, once, you know, like a pair of pants, and now they have decided they don't want it, don't want it all, and they don't want anybody else to have it either even if I'm just making carpets, rugs really, for the nice couples north of the city.


it bombed: .....

How about a fistfight? Real casual, after she finishes vacuuming in here. The goddamn buzzing is making me mad. She looks like she just got out of space and then she just got out of the gym and then she just came in here and started yelling. The place is already clean, you know. The place is already god-damn clean. We should just fistfight because, really, after all this time, I think I've slipped. No, I'll get back up, eventually, and re-order this power structure, to start looking like it should, away from this penetrating mold of shit that is coming at my face everyday at about ten billion miles an hour. I used to like to look at them, even when I wasn't thinking that I was looking at them. Now, I am just tired. They are all playing with the same rules and none of them is really playing by any rules that really make sense. I want to run a thousand miles an hour and burn my face on the outer ozone and then come back and say: See, that was space. Way up there, that was fucking space. You goddamn apes still don't get it. At least then I'd have a real burn on my face and when I walked around here, people would say, wow, there goes that man with the burn on his face because he touched heaven. Then recognition would be all about the warring and acting and I could live like a king knowing that I was something, even if I don't think that I want to care what they are thinking. Even if, really, I think I'm pleasing a bunch of goddamn apes who are thinking they are better at finding order and systems and patterns, better at looking at patterns and memorizing colors. No, its horseshit, they are all different color reds. Thats like saying all those people are white. They aren't really white. Some of them are, but not really. I could run one thousand miles an hour, you know.


that is infidelity


The Color Currency of Nature

"Red toadstools, red ladybirds, red poppies, are dangerous to eat, but red tomatoes, red strawberries, red apples, are good. The open mouth of an aggressive monkey is threatening, but the red bottom of a sexually receptive female is appealing. The flushed cheeks of a man or a woman may indicate anger, but they may equally indicate pleasure. Thus the colour red, of itself, can do no more than alert the viewer, preparing him to receive a potentially important message; the content of the message can be interpreted only when the context of the redness is defined."

Nicholas Humphrey, 1976



Elizabeth said that once she wrote an international best-seller, she was fucked. Really fucked, she said, into microphone, into the crowd, their faces wide open and blank and waiting,...

She told them though that in East Africa when the men dance well the onlookers chant Allah Allah and that's how it is to be creative, to let God come through. But what of the next morning? When the dancer wakes, and his body aches, and he's getting a little fat, a little older? How will he feel when Allah leaves him?

Elizabeth said what she wants most of all is to tell Allah, Hey, I'm working hard, come visit me today. She wants Allah to do His part.

And everyone claps, a sound like thunder they make with their hands.

fuck emememememem

The universe has a shape. How weird is that? It took 10 computers 12 weeks to draw it in flat 3 dimensional space. How many parametric equations will it take before one tells you it has a name and it is yours? What are you then? I raised my hand and said humanity is what we are left with. I tried to warn them not to count losing ground as a loss. But they were too busy clutching their dicks, swinging them sadly at guitars and Picassos, saying there is Nothing that can replace me Nothing like me like me me me me me me me m em em em eme me me me me me me me me me me em em em eme meme me me me me me me em e

but ah they were already being replaced

by the distant cumulus clouds, drawing shapes of dinosaurs

in the strange blue lawn

AR? AR? Rules, rules, rules.

There is no way out of the rules, woman. Generally speaking, this would probably be the time to witness a massacre and engage in formal analysis, but we have so few participants that we are requesting you join the opposition.

Yes, in front of the man with the scythe.


No shots were actually fired. As appropriate witness to the defense, this was not a modern engagement of military force, hence the general adoption of sophisticated and more progressive definitions of "woman" and "man" would be, by all accounts, crudely biased. We cannot create standards and hold the past accountable.


The eruptive nature of the witness precludes a logical and systematic review of his behavior. Therefore, in regards to the charge of inadequate manslaughter, all further lengthy and academic discussion is dismissed.

Inadequate manslaughter?


Inadequate manslaugther?
Due to the conditions, so stipulated, and as evidence of the social triangle (hence the informed consent of massacre), we cannot determine that the nature of such an action, a truly absolute action (ok, arguably) would necessarily involve the systematic unmaking of this, or any, woman. In pedestrian terms, there is little appropriate data that elucidates the germane nature of death in live court-room exercises.

Of course, she is not alive. Of course, thereby, it is not proven that it is anything but removal of an opposite (or the addition of a disimilar trait). Thereby, making her a creation that she could not ever have possibly been. No recognizeable identity in this world would hold such a list of definitions as identity.

This is, obviously, inadequate manslaughter.


I think I see your reflection in the pond

This is a map of georgia:

No, this is a map of georgia:

They still kill people in georgia. They tie them to trees and light them on fire. I have seen it. In which georgia?

This one:

I have a friend in georgia. He isn't tied to a tree. He must be one of those free georgians. You know, the kind that live here:

I don't think the free georgians live there. Not anymore. Its far too small.

lets go have a slumber party, Ghoriantta!

Thi s is a cl ue that--we are making ourselves into circ les. I run around the house, run aroun dt he house, ru nar oundth ehouse and ea tcho colateca ke. Ha! Ha! Ha!

Man = Ghoriantmab
Woman = Ghoriantta
Child = Ghorianttab
Eats = Ghorentab
And = Ghoreghore

Ghoriantmab Ghorentab Ghoriantta Ghoreghore Ghorianttab! Ghoriantmab Ghorentab Ghoriantta Ghoreghore Ghorianttab! Ghoriantmab Ghorentab Ghoriantta Ghoreghore Ghorianttab! Ghoriantmab Ghorentab Ghoriantta Ghoreghore Ghorianttab!Ghoriantmab Ghorentab Ghoriantta Ghoreghore Ghorianttab! Ghoriantmab Ghorentab Ghoriantta Ghoreghore Ghorianttab!Ghoriantmab Ghorentab Ghoriantta Ghoreghore Ghorianttab! Ghoriantmab Ghorentab Ghoriantta Ghoreghore Ghorianttab!Ghoriantmab Ghorentab Ghoriantta Ghoreghore Ghorianttab! Ghoriantmab Ghorentab Ghoriantta Ghoreghore Ghorianttab!Ghoriantmab Ghorentab Ghoriantta Ghoreghore Ghorianttab! Ghoriantmab Ghorentab Ghoriantta Ghoreghore Ghorianttab!Ghoriantmab Ghorentab Ghoriantta Ghoreghore Ghorianttab! Ghoriantmab Ghorentab Ghoriantta Ghoreghore Ghorianttab!Ghoriantmab Ghorentab Ghoriantta Ghoreghore Ghorianttab! Ghoriantmab Ghorentab Ghoriantta Ghoreghore Ghorianttab!Ghoriantmab Ghorentab Ghoriantta Ghoreghore Ghorianttab! Ghoriantmab Ghorentab Ghoriantta Ghoreghore Ghorianttab!

There, there, endless useless man. You didn't mean it. Go ea tcho colatec ake!

ultimately, the reductionist claim will murder all our senses

Stop counting?

I should just stop counting?

No............................ yes, wait, you see? wait.. ..........................................................
............god-less whore of a traiter gets arrested, penalized, sentenced, punished, and in traffic, crosses the street accidently, without a goddamn clue then you can resolve the issue of unfairness, peacefullness, bigotry, when he is hit by a truck, a UPS truck......................................................

I am not going to stop counting.

There are still fifty left over. I hate remainders. She is still working on that proof, you know, that 1=1. The rest of it, and I would motion toward all of it, is rather irrelevent without that.

I wouldn't kill anybody, not even myself, not for fifty left overs.


the single and only acceptance, like the future, like the past horror

He's a fucking animal, she said and she was upset, you know, red in the face, and crying, like she'd been hit. I know he hit you, I said. And she said, no, he didn't hit me--she said, he didn't touch me, he didn't, she said, no, he didn't hit me, and she grabbed me, you know on the arm, she grabbed my arm, and told me, you know, told me looking in my eye, she said, he didn't do this, he didn't hit me, and she told me to look at her, to look at her in the face, and she said it again, you know, making sure she was looking at me, making real sure she was looking right at me, and...I don't know what happened, honest, I am sitting here right now, you know, all together, talking like I am completely under control just as I was standing right there, all under control, watching her lower lip shake, just like it was off its own goddamn course and, I was under control you know, and I went to touch her hand, and I was thinking, he goddamn fucking hit her, that fucking asshole and I went to grab her hand, and she had this big cut on her hand, you know this massive cut, she was bleeding, she was bleeding on her hand, and she didn't even know it, but she must have noticed something because she saw my face change, you know, like it must have changed real quick because she started back, like she hadn't known she was bleeding, like she hadn't known she was all in blood, all over her hand, and then she started screaming, just screaming, and I ran out of there, you know, I can't really tell what was happening after that, you know just running, like real fast, and not really seeing anything around me, not really taking notice that there was anything around me, not really, but I could feel it, even when its all passed, I can still feel it, I can remember that blood in the skin, you know that rising blood level, like your body is storming, like its kicking up the sea, and its picking everything up, all the pieces, its picking them all up and throwing them all over the place, and changing the directions of everything until you don't know where the sky and the sea is, you don't know where your skin ends and the world is starting, you don't know if you are walking on actual streets, looking at actual houses, seeing actual people, you know, in actual places. But now, I don't know, I just remember her screaming, just screaming real loud like, like she knew I was going to go do something terrible, like she knew I was going to confront him.

He's a fucking animal, she said. You know, she said it, she came in, all red in the face, torn up, and she said it. Every once in a while, once in a blue, this blood picks me up, you know, picks me up like that wind and takes me somewhere else, somewhere over there, strips me of my clothes and my hair and all the things that are me, that detail me, that make me recognizeable. And I'm undressed, running. You know? I was real angry. I know I was angry. But that's not the thing that's ringing, you know, after the screaming, after she stops, somehow stops, its not that I was angry. I know I was angry. But after all that, you know, just sitting here, I can't help but think, you know, I can't help but know: I let that fucking man tell me my own place, my own future. I let that fucking man take my face long before I resigned to exist like this, you know, like this here, all confined. That fucking man. I let that fucking man tell me what I was, all that I was, all that I was ever gonna be. And I was ok that he was telling me that I was nothing, that I was without it all, undressed, unfit. That's the real horrow, you know. The real horror is this willful submission to all that I was ever told, all that I probably ever even knew, all that I was gonna become no matter what. And I fucking accepted it.



I thought it would be easier to perhaps integrate, not differentiate, the exact rate of change the difference you see between me and you. hwere and aI s thav toenca 't the ths ess see

that is noise on an otherwise purposeful signal.

"Assigning purpose or other intension to the observed process of matter and mechanical things is folly, and how we got religion in the first place, jackass."

He said. I think he really meant it. Blackboard's singing in the wind, I caught a whole lot of rain on my tongue and drowned.

Does God separate signal from noise, or it is to Him always and only signal -- pure relevant meaning?

or is it all noise

xxzzzxzxcv vcxxxxxxcvvdsaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaqaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah

my early escalation into dissatisfaction

I could tell him to fuck off, you know, be really direct about it, just come out and tell him that I am tired of this fucking shit:

Where are you going?
I am going to class. I have a class. I need to sit in class.
Where is your friend?

I don't know. I haven't seen him. I think he is in Africa. Building houses and walking around the desert, real lost like.
Do you think he is lost?
Not really. He doesn't get lost.
Have you spoken to him lately?

No. I haven't spoken to him lately. Not in a long time. He is off walking on sand and then flying to strange places and eating strange foods.

I was hungry, real hungry, I think, I mean I must have been really hungry, like starving, you know, like hungry all over, like you are always a little bit faint, like you aren't getting the right things into your body even though you are getting something into your body but it's mostly the wrong things, or it certainly isn't enough of the right things. I don't think I was getting any of the right things. I was tired all the time and hungry. And then I was faint. I was crawling out of my skin, real sneaky like, like I was just letting my body crash. Then I collapsed, I just collapsed. It had everything to do with a dream, I think, everything that I've ever had with dreams. I mean, that is how you describe it, right? That's how I describe it, like a dream, at least that is how they would describe it. Right? Don't you think that is how they'd describe it? I would at least. Well, it felt like coming out of a spaceship or something, after I collapsed. You know the whole class had moved around, adjusted themselves to see maybe if they could see a little bit more and there I was walking in off the spaceship, waving to the little earth people, and still desperately hungry, my own mind watering, and the whole place looking like a goddamn desert, and there I am running back to it, with a big schmuck smile on my face, you know, eager to get back to this place where I know there is nothing for me to fucking eat. I couldn't even try to find something here. There is no chance that there is anything here. And I am just starting to fall flat, uncontrolled and flat, disappear into a self-loathing shadow of cactii--that would be my great finale. I have already come to recognize my ephemeral state and my limited range. But not my disappearance. I can't stand my willing disappearance.

He's not really in Africa is he?
I don't know if he's really in Africa. That's what he tells me. It sure sounds different than here.
Do you think he'll come back?
I don't think I'd come back. Not from Africa. Not when it is terribly romantic and beautiful in Africa.


never the same

I couldn't believe it was said, really, or that it even needed to be said at all. Sad clowns, balloon in the rain. I tried my best to look both ways, cross the street with arms wide open, sweaty palms pointing to God. He said, No way Jose, and then let the traffic flow over me like so many drops of rain. Balloons, clowns, God, nouns -- I've said them all so many different ways.

She didn't understand. "I want you to love me, always, like you used to, always," and I said love is a river -- you can go back to where you came from, but it is never the same.

The Language, Behavior, Attitude Triangle and its Useful though not always Self-Reflective Purposes

She started asking questions, you know, like real penetrating questions, the kind that made me look again, look at her again, and, not just because she was asking them, not just because of the circumstances (that would be cruel of me, wrong, right?), no, not just that, but because they were really penetrating questions, and they were getting at this problem she was having with, what I could only imagine, you know, some rather frequent occurence, like the problem was happening with some regular occurrence, you know, like often....exactly, because it was all about her neighbor and his lawn, or his fence, and it really had nothing to do with me, not ostensibly, at least, not that it couldn't have had nothing to do with me, no, I thought about that, you know, I look like him, or looked like him, and I got to thinking, one of these past nights, when that main electrical switch froze and they couldn't turn the damn lights off, well, I don't know why it took me so damn long, because I always rememebered her penetrating questions and her frequent occurences, but I never considered, not until this week, you know, I never really considered that she thought I was him, she thought it was my lawn or waste or whatever it was that she thought was wrong....no, she didn't phrase it like that, no of course she didn't phrase it like that, she said something like, inappropriate or careless, like she thought my action was inappropriate and careless and disrespectful and some other word...I haven't come across it yet, something else, but you see, I already am, changing the part of me, you know, I already am incorporating those things into my meal times and my outside time, you know, and taking some of those words, because she was always using those words and I even think she was using them correctly, and using them myself and making it a natural part of my conversation....so, no, I don't know, I think it just finally hit me, you know with the electricity on and all and my brain in that inbetween where it doesn't really want to recognize where it is, well, it doesn't ever want to recognize where it is, but then it didn't really want to be turned on and yet, like it was guiding itself, like it knew if it turned itself on, I'd screw it up. And that's when it hit me, right there, you know, right smack in the middle of the forhead, yeah, I thought, she was thinking I was her neighbor, all that time, she was thinking I was her neighbor, and all this could have been avoided, not that she should have really been approaching me like that, not really, but all this might have concluded in a different way had I just either really been her neighbor, because then I really would have been doing all those things that she wasn't liking or if she hadn't confused me with her neighbor, you know, either one, I think we'd be in different places, at least right now, we might even be in opposite places and she'd be calling me and asking me to come down here and wait in line. You just think, sometimes, that one little misunderstanding, you know, just one tiny little thing, like her thinking I was her neighbor and all that results in this, I mean if she had known that was gonna cause her death, you know the simple misunderstanding was going to lead to her death, I know she wouldn't have confused us, and, but really, the other side of it, is if I had moved in there, like I almost did last year, then I really would have been her neighbor and that too, you know my action too, would have saved her life then, because it would have been ok and all that thing about my lawn or my fence would have been about me and I could have fixed that. I mean that is crazy, you know, that is almost unbelieveable and you know, sometimes you just got to wonder, you know, you really have to think about these things and all these interactions because, just like that, the smallest wonders can change the whole trajectory of your life, the smallest confusions can throw your life into a whole other pond and that whole other pond might look so different and it might even get you to throw it all away just like she did.


city gardens

Fuck it, you know, I was all coming up here, earlier, you know a lot earlier, and I was thinking about all the little changes that have been going on, you know, like the fence next to this guy's house, you know this new fence, that just came out of nowhere, just a fence built right there to protect the plants or something, some sort of garden, I think, you know, but that was earlier, and there was the man squatting across the street in some new fenced in community garden, here he was just squatting and digging in the dirt, you know this grown man digging in the dirt, like he had nothing to concern him but the mud and the mud had nothing to concern him with, not at all and, then it was just hitting me like that, you know especially earlier, when I was walking around, back and forth, this whole block, even more than the block, you know past the block, and into some of those parts over, you know, even in Far Rock, where my friend lives, he seeing the same thing, just these little fences starting to come up and protect these plants and a bunch of grown men, grown men, sitting in the area and getting all dirty, getting down into the mud and with the roots and spending all day, like all day on a saturday, out there in their garden, in their new little garden, brought in by a bunch of those people, set up by a bunch of those people, yeah, I know they are from the city, but they aren't from the city, not around here, they don't end up in parts of the city where you look at a face and you know he's seen the city and you know he's from the city, they aren't from this part of the city, not the one we've been coming up in all this time, and so, you know, earlier, maybe even much earlier, I was concerned, I suppose, and I think, maybe, I was even conflicted, right, like I had this feeling that there was something not right about this grown man all fenced in and talking to all these people that have no business walking around back here, and then, you know, you know why I was conflicted, because, you know, the city blocks with the fences and all those things growing up back there are really ok, you know, and earlier, I was thinking it was really ok, it was probably even really worth something, you know, like green is a good color, and it felt good, but man, that is like the poison that we are getting fed, you know right now, right this second, just like that, just in a second, just like that old man squatting in the mud, not thinking there something wrong with that, just in that second, I was, you know converted to thinking like they wanted me to start thinking, thinking its ok if I am squatting in my owh mud, in my own street, like that's ok, but I know that's not ok, I mean that isn't even a little bit ok, that is just wrong, you know the kind of thing that you know is just wrong, that's how it is, and so, you know, really, even after all that color, really--fuck the plants, man, fuck the plants, because I am squatting in my own street, looking like I can't even protect nobody from coming at me, and you know, as I was saying, you know, this was earlier, this was earlier, now, really, fuck it, I mean it, I mean fuck it, there is no way I am gonna run around here, just here, and let my brother or my uncle, you know, let them start squatting and thinking that everything is ok because look at this, I mean, look at this, its a far way from being ok, its pretty fucking far from being all right. Yeah, so fuck it, I said fuck it, and honestly, fuck it because its far from ok, its really pretty far from ok, and like I'll ever really have the chance, really, you know, of trying to understand how messed up it must be, I mean, of really knowing how messed up it must be, of really letting everybody know how messed up things have really gotten, how disconnected I must be, how disconnected all of us here in this city must be, when I am convinced, and I am really convinced, you know, that I have to take out an old man because he's fucking gardening in my neighborhood.


the famous night we first made love

in the morning everything was clearer. Last night -- where were we? I remember there were stars, that the moon "was watery and pale." Robert said this, but he was remembering something altogether different. The moon, even the stars, were stand-ins for the other thing, the thing he didn't mention. That was the whole point.

"How do we substitute the flesh and bones of man for the flesh and bones of his brother?" We were silent at the long table. I don't know what the others were thinking. My morning was clear until I drank too much coffee, and suddenly there were fireworks of thought in my skull.

"That kind of substitution is essentially meaningless," I said. "How could we measure it's success? By which I mean: if man x1 is there and then we see man x2, unless we watch the transition occur we DON'T KNOW IT HAPPENED." Juan nods, and deliberately pauses before looking to Robert, asleep, his glasses a little crooked, his head just a bit above his chest.

"I think that is a very good idea but it needs to be put into proper terms."

So I said x ---> system ---> f(x) so that f(x1) = f(x2) where x1 is man and x2 is his brother, then Robert hollered, and the papers flew around and mixed with the coffee and I watched him tip the table and it headed for the floor. I felt a curious pressure behind my eyes that built until all the differences between me and my colleagues (and the table, falling, the waves of light in the air, the moon) disappeared into a colorful noise, like static but soft, an ocean I suppose, fine, okay, let's just call it that.

the deletion in error, is by chance, only a circle

As a child, I suppose, there is a longing for the perfected face, an image that is not so torn between culture, history, and idealism. That is the face, yes, once sought. But now, I am only here, unable to work, really uninspired to dissect, detail, re-write the already written, merely at the request of the reductionist (who, I am convinced nonetheless, has found certain noble and divine foundations in his work). So, without true joy, I walked here, without valid ambition and not quite alone. No, it would have been years earlier, perhaps even at the very beginning, had I been without help. They did keep me locked in step with the world, a chosen submission, of sorts, but after several attempts, taken in honest effort, the outcomes would not separate themselves from each other, each, even in its completion, a hollow resemblance to the nature of the vacuum, the bright fierce ball, the speed which has no ignition--this is the only act to resemble.

He is, himself, in pieces--literal pieces. He did not dress himself well today and, later, upon inspection, removed the unfortunate pieces of clothing and decoration. I will collect them, he muttered, eventually. I will collect them and re-place them in their proper homes, owned and catalogued.

Is he mad? Of sorts, of course. The resemblance to any hierachy, she mentions, casually (I believe she is sarcastic but almost witless, you know, indifferent to the lunacy that clearly runs all through my family), itself requires a, what would you people call it, a leap of faith? So, technically, his logic is rather faulty to suppose that any resemblance, any actual reflection, no matter how authentic he believes it to be, is merely a subjective relationship--one that holds no absolute divine power (unless, of course, by serious mistake, a critical accident). Given this overall analysis, one that I take no pleasure in delivering, we have no choice but to execute him.

She is mad for analyzing my proposition, he intones, unwilling to accept or even acknowledge his pending death. The only witness in the circle is never in the circle at all. That, I have pretended to understand, means that this long reflection, even at dawn, is simply something I could not possibly comprehend, not unless I remembered not to be involved, which of course, I am destined not to do.